_Mrs. Rack._ Aye, 'tis of no consequence.----'Tis all over--Doricourt is mad. _Lady Fran._ Mad! _Mrs. Rack._ My poor Letitia!--Just as we were enjoying ourselves with the prospect of a scheme that was planned for their mutual happiness, in came Flutter, breathless, with the intelligence:--I flew here to know if you had heard it. _Lady Fran._ No, indeed--and I hope it is one of Mr. Flutter's dreams. _Enter_ Saville. A-propos; now we shall be informed. Mr. Saville, I rejoice to see you, though Sir George will be disappointed: he's gone to your lodgings. _Sav._ I should have been happy to have prevented Sir George. I hope your Ladyship's adventure last night did not disturb your dreams? _Lady Fran._ Not at all; for I never slept a moment. My escape, and the importance of my obligations to you, employed my thoughts. But we have just had shocking intelligence--Is it true that Doricourt is mad? _Sav._ So; the business is done. (_Aside._) Madam, I am sorry to say, that I have just been a melancholy witness of his ravings: he was in the height of a paroxysm. _Mrs. Rack._ Oh, there can be no doubt of it. Flutter told us the whole history. Some Italian Princess gave him a drug, in a box of sweetmeats, sent to him by her own page; and it renders him lunatic every month. Poor Miss Hardy! I never felt so much on any occasion in my life. _Sav._ To soften your concern, I will inform you, Madam, that Miss Hardy is less to be pitied than you imagine. _Mrs. Rack._ Why so, Sir? _Sav._ 'Tis rather a delicate subject--but he did not love Miss Hardy. _Mrs. Rack._ He did love Miss Hardy, Sir, and would have been the happiest of men. _Sav._ Pardon me, Madam; his heart was not only free from that Lady's chains, but absolutely captivated by another. _Mrs. Rack._ No, Sir--no. It was Miss Hardy who captivated him. She met him last night at the Masquerade, and charmed him in disguise--He professed the most violent passion for her; and a plan was laid, this evening, to cheat him into happiness. _Sav._ Ha! ha! ha!--Upon my soul, I must beg your pardon; I have not eaten of the Italian Princess's box of sweetmeats, sent by her own page; and yet I am as mad as Doricourt, ha! ha! ha! _Mrs. Rack._ So it appears--What can all this mean? _Sav._ Why, Madam, he is at present in his perfect senses; but he'll lose 'em in ten minutes, through joy.--The madness was only a feint, to avoid marrying Miss Hardy, ha! ha! ha!--I'll carry him the intelligence directly. (_Going._) _Mrs. Rack._ Not for worlds. I owe him revenge, now, for what he has made us suffer. You must promise not to divulge a syllable I have told you; and when Doricourt is summoned to Mr. Hardy's, prevail on him to come--madness, and all. _Lady Fran._ Pray do. I should like to see him shewing off, now I am in the secret. _Sav._ You must be obeyed; though 'tis inhuman to conceal his happiness.